Hitchhiker's Guide to SPAAAAAAAAAAAACE!
by Portal 2 Minecraft
Summary: An AU fic where Chell, GLaDOS, Wheatley, Space, Adventure, and Fact end up joining Arthur and Ford on a journey through the galaxy. I'm no Douglas Adams, but I did my best. If you haven't read Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, READ IT! I swear, it's totally amazing! Rated for mild sexual situations and language.
1. Episode 1

THE BOOK:

Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-two million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think artificial intelligence is way out of their league. However, unknown to them, artificial intelligence had been invented twenty years ago, and two particular intelligences had both tried to kill a girl in the last four hours. At one moment, when she was in space, one of them had hold of her wrist, the other, her leg, and three others were attatched to the one who had her leg. Suddenly, the earth exploded and all six beings were sent into space. The girl might have died, had not one of them touched a blurry object, which, on a probability of two to the power of two-hundred and seventy-six thousand, seven-hundred and nine against, happened to be a man in a bathrobe and an intergalactic hitchhiker catching a ride on a Vogon ship. The girl passed out, leaving the two AIs to fight. However, before one of them could turn the other into miscellaneous parts, they heard voices.

FEMALE VOICE:

Get down! I hear someone!

FORD PREFECT:

I bought some peanuts.

ARTHUR DENT:

What?!

FORD PREFECT:

If you've never been through a matter transference beam before, you've probably lost some salt and protein. The beer you had should've cushioned your system a bit. How are you feeling?

ARTHUR DENT:

Like a military academy - bits of me keep on passing out. If I asked you where the hell we were, would I regret it?

FORD PREFECT:

We're safe.

ARTHUR DENT:

Oh good…

FORD PREFECT:

We're in a small galley cabin in one of the spaceships of the Vogon constructor fleet.

ARTHUR DENT:

Ah. This is obviously some strange usage of the word "safe" that I wasn't previously aware of.

At this point, the girl (whose name was Chell) and the other AI's woke up.

FORD PREFECT:

I'll have a look for the light.

ARTHUR DENT:

All right. …. How did we get here?

FORD PREFECT:

We hitched a lift.

ARTHUR DENT:

Excuse me.? Are you trying to tell me that we just stuck out our thumbs and some bug-eyed monster stuck his head out and said, "Hi fellows, hop right in, I can take you as far as the Basingstoke roundabout."?

FORD PREFECT:

Well, the thumb's an electronic sub-ether device, the roundabout's at Barnard's star, six light years away, but otherwise, that's more or less right.

ARTHUR DENT:

And the bug-eyed monster?

FORD PREFECT:

Is green, yes.

ARTHUR DENT:

Fine. When can I go home?

FORD PREFECT:

You can't. Ah! - I've found the light.

[Light comes on]

ARTHUR DENT:

Good grief! Is this really the interior of a flying saucer?

FORD PREFECT:

It certainly is. What do you think?

CHILDISH MALE VOICE:

OH MY GOSH, WE'RE IN SPACE!

ARTHUR DENT:

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!

FORD PREFECT:

I DON'T KNOW! WHY DON'T WE FIND OUT?!

ARTHUR DENT:

HOW WILL YELLING HELP THIS SITUATION?!

FORD PREFECT:

YOU TELL ME! YOU STARTED IT!

There was a terrible ghastly silence.

There was a terrible ghastly noise.

There was a terrible ghastly silence.

Finally, they came out of where they were hiding.

There was a woman about seven feet tall. Her white hair was amazingly and gorgeously wavy and it came down to her waist. It looked strangely like tentacles or wires. She wore a very long white dress to her ankles with gold straps that looped around her arms, just below her pits. Her skin was completely white. The strangest thing about her was her eyes- they were a shocking yellow color, with no pupils.

There was a man about six feet tall, with glasses framing his electric blue, pupil-less eyes. His white hair was slightly messy, parting slightly off center. He looked innocent, and if you were into that sort of thing, cute. His chest held a blue light, which seemed like it could look around.

There was another man, maybe five foot six, with lime green eyes. He had the same light in his chest, but green, with a watchful black "pupil". He had a rather square, reasonably attractive face and brown hair that flipped up in front. He was, for whatever reason, smiling like an idiot, probably because he was one.

A third man, also 5'6", had hot pink eyes framed by glasses. He looked very intellectual, yet a bit quirky. His black hair was perfectly neat- every single strand was accounted for. He wore a neat pink tie, framed by a neat light pink collar attached to a neat light pink shirt. His chest held a pink light, designed in a sunburst pattern.

Finally, there was a little boy, with very messy, very short golden hair, which matched his wide, golden eyes. He was, for whatever reason, very excited to be there. He had a cute little button nose. His chest light had the same sunburst pattern as the neat man in pink, but golden.

And if you're reading this, you know what Chell looks like.

FORD PREFECT:

Umm… this is awkward… um… hi.

ARTHUR DENT:

Chell?

FORD PREFECT:

You know her?

ARTHUR DENT:

Yes. I dated her once in high school. She was cuter back then. But that explains virtually nothing!

GLaDOS:

Actually, that explains a lot.

ARTHUR DENT:

For instance, how the hell did she get here?

FORD PREFECT:

The same way we got here, assumedly.

ARTHUR DENT:

Alright, so how did we get here?

FORD PREFECT:

I can't explain it, look it up in the book.

ARTHUR DENT:

What is it?

FORD PREFECT:

'The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. It's a sort of electronic book - it'll tell you everything you want to know - that's its job.

ARTHUR DENT:

I like the cover: "Don't panic". It's the first helpful or intelligible thing anybody's said to me all day!

CHELL:

You said it, brother.

GLaDOS AND WHEATLEY:

You can talk?

CHELL:

Of course I can talk. I have a degree in physics, I'm not a moron. Unlike some people I could mention.

(Everyone's gaze turns towards Wheatley)

WHEATLEY:

What?

FORD PREFECT:

Anyway, press this button and the screen will give you the index. You've got several million entries so fast-wind through the index to 'E'… There you are: Electronic Sub-Ether Device. Enter that code on the tabulator and read what it says.

[With a medley of bleeps and bloops, the Guide speaks. Everyone crowds around the tiny-winy-itty-bitty screen]

THE BOOK:

'Electronic Sub-Ether Device'.

This device thumbs in on spaceships, sending a signal that said spaceship can either deny or accept access to a sub particalizer, turning the user of the electronic sub-ether device into a billion specks of dust moving at speeds faster than the speed of light. There may, studies theorize, be a connection to this and the existence of an infinite improbability drive, but the chances are highly, highly improbable.

ARTHUR DENT:

How did we get a lift from these Bogon things then? And how did they get here?

FORD PREFECT:

They're vogons. The point is it's out of date now! I'm doing the field research for the new revised edition of the Guide. So, for instance, I will have to include a revision pointing out that since the Vogons have made so much money being professionally unpleasant, they can now afford to employ Dentrassi cooks. Which gives us a rather useful little loophole.

ARTHUR DENT:

Who are the Dentrassi?

FORD PREFECT:

The best cooks and the best drink mixers and they don't give a wet slap about anything else. And they will always help hitch-hikers on board, partly because they like the company, but mostly because it annoys the Vogons. Which is exactly the sort of thing you need to know if you're an impoverished Hitch-Hiker trying to see the marvels of the Galaxy for less than thirty Altairian dollars a day. And that's my job. Fun, isn't it?

SPACE CORE:

You mean you get to see… space?

FORD PREFECT:

Umm… yeah?

SPACE CORE:

SPAAAACE! (continues babbling about space)

ARTHUR DENT:

Okay then.

FORD PREFECT:

Unfortunately I got stuck on the Earth for rather longer than I intended. I came for a week and was stranded for fifteen years.

ARTHUR DENT:

Er, heh heh. Ford I don't know if this sounds like a silly question - but what are we doing here?

FORD PREFECT:

Well you know that! I rescued you from the Earth. All of you, apparently.

CHELL:

But what happened to the Earth?

FORD PREFECT:

It's been… disintegrated.

ARTHUR DENT:

Has it?

FORD PREFECT:

Yes. It just… boiled away into space.

GLaDOS:

Oh no! Wait a minute, I meant the other thing. "Hooray." Yes, that's it.

ARTHUR DENT:

Look, I'm a bit upset about that.

CHELL:

Hey, look on the bright side! No more fanfiction!

ARTHUR DENT:

Yes, I suppose there is that.

ARTHUR DENT:

So, what do I do?

FORD PREFECT:

You come along with me and enjoy yourself.

RICK:

So, like an adventure? Whoohoo!

FORD PREFECT:

You'll need to have this fish in your ear.

ARTHUR DENT:

I beg your pardon!

CHELL:

A what in my where?!

RICK:

That's what she said!

FACT:

Fact: fish is used several times and in several forms in the recipe for Black Forest Cake.

VOGON CAPTAIN:

[Alien gibberish]

ARTHUR DENT AND WHEATLEY:

What the devil's that!?

VOGON CAPTAIN:

[More alien gibberish]

FORD PREFECT:

Listen! It might be important.

VOGON CAPTAIN:

[Even more alien gibberish]

ARTHUR DENT:

What?

VOGON CAPTAIN:

[Yet more alien gibberish]

FORD PREFECT:

It's the Vogon Captain making an announcement on the PA.

VOGON CAPTAIN:

[Yet even more alien gibberish]

ARTHUR DENT:

But I can't speak Vogon!

VOGON CAPTAIN:

[Even more alien gibberish]

FORD PREFECT:

You don't need to! Just put the fish in your ear - c'mon, they're only little ones.

CHELL:

Fine, just give me the fish so I can't hear that awful noise.

VOGON CAPTAIN:

[Yet even more alien gibberish]

[With a slurping noise, the Babel fish slides into Arthur's ear, another in Chell's]

ARTHUR DENT:

Euuuuggh!

CHELL:

Oh, god, I was better off without the fish! It's worse now!

ALL ANDROIDS, IN THEIR OWN WAY, EXCITEDLY AND ANXIOUSLY:

What's he saying?

ARTHUR DENT:

They've got hitchikers… They're not welcome… he's gonna read us… poetry? He's cancelling leave. It sounds like they found us. Charming, these Vogons. I wish I had a daughter so I could forbid her to marry one.

CHELL:

You wouldn't need to, trust me.

FORD PREFECT:

You better be prepared for the jump into hyperspace; it's unpleasantly like being drunk.

ARTHUR DENT:

Well, what's so unpleasant about being drunk?

FORD PREFECT:

You ask a glass of water!

ARTHUR DENT:

Ford.

FORD PREFECT:

Yes?

ARTHUR DENT:

What's this fish doing in our ears?

FORD PREFECT:

Translating for you. Look under Babel Fish in the book.

[Whooshing noise]

ARTHUR DENT:

What's happening?

[Whooshing noise]

FORD PREFECT:

We're going into hyperspace.

[Whooshing noise]

SPACE CORE:

Space?

ARTHUR DENT:

Eeeuuuhhh! I… I'll never be cruel to a gin and tonic again.

[Chell barfs everywhere. Wheatley and Fact look like they would've if they weren't robots. GLaDOS barfs, having forgotten that she is a robot. As the whooshing noise increases, we hear under it a "tick-tick-tick-bing!"]

THE BOOK:

The Babel Fish is small, yellow, leech-like, and probably the oddest thing in the Universe. It feeds on brainwave energy absorbing all unconscious frequencies and then excreting, telepathically, a matrix formed from the conscious frequencies and nerve signals picked up from the speech centers of the brain. The practical upshot of which is, that if you stick one in your ear you can instantly understand anything said to you in any form of language. The speech you hear decodes the brainwave matrix. Now it is such a bizarrely improbable coincidence that anything so mind-bogglingly useful could evolve purely by chance that some thinkers have chosen to see it as the final clinching proof of the non-existence of God. The argument goes something like this:

"I refuse to prove that I exist," says God, "for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing."

"But," said Man, "the Babel Fish is a dead giveaway, isn't it? It proves you exist and so therefore you don't. QED."

"Oh dear," says God, "I hadn't thought of that!" and promptly vanished in a puff of logic.

"Oh, that was easy," says Man, and for an encore he proves that black is white and gets killed on the next zebra crossing.

Most leading theologians claim that this argument is a load of dingo's kidneys, but that didn't stop Oolong Clupeid making a small fortune when he used it as the central theme of his best-selling book 'Well, That About Wraps It Up For God'. Meanwhile, the poor Babel Fish, by effectively removing all barriers to communication between different cultures and races, has caused more and bloodier wars than anything else in the history of creation.

FACT CORE:

Raseph, the semitic god of war and plague, had a gazelle growing out of his forehead.

WHEATLEY:

Understood all that perfectly, by the way.

ARTHUR DENT:

What an extraordinary book.

FORD PREFECT:

Want to help me write the new edition?

ARTHUR DENT:

No. I want to go back to Earth again I'm afraid - or its nearest equivalent.

RICK:

Wuss.

FORD PREFECT:

You're turning down a hundred billion new worlds to explore.

RICK:

Now THAT'S more LIKE it!

ARTHUR DENT:

Did you get much useful material on Earth?

FORD PREFECT:

I was able to extend the entry, yes.

ARTHUR DENT:

Well let's see what it says in this edition then.

FORD PREFECT:

Okay.

ARTHUR DENT:

Let's see…E…Earth. Tap out the code.

[He taps buttons, and Guide gives a "bing!"]

ARTHUR DENT:

There's the page… wha - it doesn't seem to have an entry.

FORD PREFECT:

Yes it does, see, right at the bottom of the screen - just under 'Eccentric Gallumbits, the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon Six'.

ARTHUR DENT:

What there? …oh yes. "Harmless". Harmless? Is that all it's got to say?! One word! "Harmless"!? What the hell's that supposed to mean?

CHELL:

Harmless? Are you a lunatic?

FORD PREFECT:

Well there are a hundred billion stars in the galaxy and a limited amount of space in the book. And no one knew much about the Earth of course.

ARTHUR DENT:

Well I hope you've managed to rectify that a little.

CHELL:

Out of all the words, harmless?

FORD PREFECT:

Yes! I transmitted a new entry off to the editor… He had to trim it a bit, but it's still an improvement!

ARTHUR DENT:

What does it say now?

FORD PREFECT:

"Mostly Harmless".

ARTHUR DENT AND CHELL:

[Yells] "Mostly Harmless"?!

FORD PREFECT:

Well that's the way it is! We're on a different scale now.

GLaDOS:

That's actually a pretty good summary of human life, except I would put "Mostly Useless" or "Mostly Fat".

CHELL:

I deny the idea that Earth is harmless at all! I was shot several times in the leg, and I must have nearly died at least 50 times!

ARTHUR DENT:

Wow, what happened to you?

CHELL:

Ask them.

(Chell points towards GLaDOS and Wheatley)

GLaDOS:

Look, I'm sorry! Oh wait, no I'm not. It was for science.

WHEATLEY:

It's not like I was hooked up to the body of an oppressive, overpowering, evil AI or something! I mean really, you can't give lil' ol' Wheatley a break?

FORD PREFECT:

Fine then. who's coming with me, anyway?

ARTHUR DENT:

Okay Ford, I'm with you. I'm bloody well coming with you.

RICK:

WOO HOO!

FACT:

"Fact: Space does not exist."

SPACE:

Better buy a telescope. Wanna see me? Buy a telescope. Gonna be in space.

WHEATLEY:

I guess I'm in.

GLaDOS:

Why not waste a few years of my life being bored?

CHELL:

What she said.

ARTHUR DENT:

Okay then. Where are we now?

FORD PREFECT:

Not far from Barnard's Star - it's a beautiful place, and a sort of hyperspace juncture. You can get virtually anywhere from there.

[Footsteps approaching]

FORD PREFECT:

That is… assuming that we actually get there.

[Footsteps get nearer; door opens]

SPACE CORE:

Oh. Play it cool. Play it cool. Here come the space cops.

ARTHUR DENT:

What's that!?

FORD PREFECT:

Well…if we're lucky it's just the Vogons come to throw us into space.

ARTHUR DENT:

And if we're unlucky…?

FORD PREFECT:

If we're unlucky the Captain might want to read us some of his poetry first.

NARRATOR:

Vogon poetry is, of course, the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet-master, Grunthos the Flatulent, of his poem 'Ode to a Small Lump Of Green Putty I Found In My Armpit One Midsummer Morning', four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging, and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve - book epic entitled 'My Favorite Bath-time Gurgles', when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through his neck, and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon Poetry is mild by comparison, and when the Vogon Captain began to read, it provoked this reaction from Ford Prefect:

FORD PREFECT:

[Screams]

THE BOOK:

And this from Arthur Dent:

ARTHUR DENT:

[Horrible screams]

THE BOOK:

And this from Chell:

CHELL:

[Whimpers]

VOGON CAPTAIN:

"Oh freddled gruntbuggly…"

SPACE CORE:

Space. Trial. Puttin' the system on trial. In space. Space system. On trial. Guilty. Of being in space! Going to space jail! Help me, space cops. Space cops, help. Space Court. For people in space. Judge space sun presiding. Bam. Guilty. Of being in space. I'm in space.

CHELL:

[Whimpers, a tiny bit louder]

ARTHUR DENT:

[Blood-curdling screams]

FORD PREFECT:

[Awful screams]

GLaDOS:

Whoa, Chell is whimpering? I need to borrow that book sometime.

VOGON CAPTAIN:

"…thy micturations are to me, as purdled gabbleblotchitson lurgid bee."

ARTHUR DENT:

[Ghastly screams]

FORD PREFECT:

[Suffering screams]

CHELL:

[Whimpers, a tiny bit more desperate]

VOGON CAPTAIN:

"Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes..."

ARTHUR DENT:

[Dreadful screams]

FORD PREFECT:

[ Agonised screams]

CHELL:

[Whimpers, a lot more pathetically]

VOGON CAPTAIN:

"And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles, for I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"

ARTHUR DENT:

[Terrible screams]

FORD PREFECT:

[Horrendous screams]

CHELL:

[screams]

GLaDOS:

I definitely need to borrow that book.

ARTHUR DENT:

Aghhh. Ahhhhh.

FORD PREFECT:

Ahhhh. Aghhhh.

CHELL:

Aghhh. Ahhhhh. That did NOT just happen.

VOGON CAPTAIN:

So, Earthlings, I present you with a simple choice. I was going to throw you straight out into the empty blackness of space to die horribly and slowly, but there is one way, one simple way, in which you may save yourselves. Now think very carefully… for you hold your very lives in your hands! Now choose: either die in the Vacuum of Space, or -

[Dramatic chord, then several not-so-dramatic chords]

VOGON CAPTAIN:

…tell me how good you thought my poem was.

GLaDOS:

[claps, hoots, whistles] YEAH, BABY! LOVED IT!

(Everyone but Space, who is saying something about space cops, and the Vogon Captian stares at GLaDOS angrily, especially Chell, Arthur, and Ford)

GLaDOS:

What?


	2. Episode 2

**ARTHUR:**

I liked it.

**FORD AND CHELL:**

Huh?

**ARTHUR:**

Oh, yes. I thought some of the metaphysical imagery was really particularly effective.

**VOGON CAPTAIN:**

Yes?

**ARTHUR:**

Oh, and interesting ... rhythmic devices ... which seemed to counterpoint the, er ...

**FORD:**

Counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor of the, er ...

**ARTHUR:**

The Humanity ...

**FORD:**

Vognity ...

**ARTHUR:**

Vogonity, sorry! Of the poet's compassionate soul, which strives through the medium of the verse structure to sublimate this, transcend that, and come to terms with the fundamental dichotimies of the other, and one is left with a profound and vivid insight into ... into ...

**CHELL:**

Into whatever the poem was about!

**VOGON CAPTAIN:**

So, what you are saying is that I just write poetry because underneath my mean, callous, heartless exterior, I just want to be loved, is that it?

**FORD:**

Well, I mean, yes, don't we all, deep down, underneath, you know?

**VOGON CAPTAIN:**  
>No, well, you're completely wrong. I just write poetry to throw my mean, callous, heartless exterior into sharp relief. I'm going to throw you off the ship anyway! Guards! Take the prisoners to number three airlock and throw them out.<p>

**VOGON GUARD:**  
>Okay Captain.<p>

(Guards grab the 8 characters, 2 apiece, and carry them off separately. They are paired as such: Arthur and Ford, Chell and Wheatley, GLaDOS and Space, Rick and Fact.)

**FORD:**  
>You can't throw us off into deep space, we're trying to write a book!<p>

**VOGON GUARD:**  
>Resistance is useless!<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>I don't want to die now, I've still got a headache. I don't want to go to heaven with a headache, I'll be all cross and wouldn't enjoy it.<p>

**VOGON GUARD:**  
>Come on.<p>

**FORD:**  
>You can't do this!<p>

**VOGON CAPTAIN:**  
>Why not you puny creature?<p>

**FORD: **Why not? Why not?! Does there have to be a reason for everything? Why don't you just let us go on a mad impulse? Go on, live a little, surprise yourself.

_[The door opens, and the prisoners are dragged through. The door closes.]_

**VOGON CAPTAIN:**  
>"…counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor…" Hm-hm. Death's too good for them.<p>

_[Time skip to where Arthur and Ford are thrown in the air lock]_

**FORD:**  
>No, listen, listen! There's a, there's a whole world you don't know anything about. I mean here… how about this? <em>['Beethoven's Fifth Symphony']<em> Da da da dum! I mean, doesn't that stir anything in you?

_[Airlock door unlocks and opens]_

**VOGON GUARD:**  
>Bye.<p>

_[Airlock door noise as FORD and ARTHUR are pushed inside]_

**VOGON GUARD:**  
>I'll mention what you said to my aunt.<p>

_[Airlock door closes and locks]_

**FORD:**  
>Potentially bright lad, I thought.<p>

_[Arthur and Ford now notice Chell and Wheatley, kissing in the corner. They suddenly notice Arthur and Ford staring at them. They stop kissing. Awkward silence for a few seconds.]_

**CHELL:**

Don't you _dare_ mention this to GLaDOS! I'll kill you!

**WHEATLEY:  
><strong>Seriously, don't. She will actually, literally kill you. Literally.

(GLaDOS and Space arrive.)

**ARTHUR: **  
>Well then. Ah hem… …Did you think of anything?<p>

**FORD:**  
>Oh Yes.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Yes?<p>

_[Rick and Fact are thrown in, kicking and punching each other, screaming insults. No one takes notice]_

**FORD:**  
>But, unfortunately, it rather involved being on the other side of the airtight hatchway.<p>

**GLaDOS:**

Well, _that's_ a lot of help.

**FORD:**

Not really.

**ARTHUR:**  
>So, what happens next?<p>

**FORD:**  
>The hatchway in front of us will open automatically in a moment and we'll shoot out into deep space and the three of us will asphyxiate in about… thirty seconds.<p>

**SPACE:**

You are the farthest ever in space. Why me, space? Because you are the best. I'm the best at space? Yes.

**ARTHUR:**  
>So this is it?! We're going to die!<p>

**FORD:**  
>Yes…. except.. No! Wait a minute! What's this switch?<p>

**WHEATLEY, CHELL AND ARTHUR:**  
>What?! Where?<p>

**FORD:**  
>No, I was only foolin'. We are going to die after all.<p>

**GLaDOS:**

Really, Chell? You didn't see that coming?

**CHELL:**  
>Shut up, GLaDOS.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>You know, it's at times like this, when I'm trapped in a Vogon airlock, with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space, that I really wish I'd listened to what my mother told me when I was young!<p>

**GLaDOS:**  
>Why, what did she tell you?<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>I don't know, I didn't listen!<p>

**FORD:**  
>Huh, Terr-rific!<p>

_[Airlock door opens and the air hisses out into the vacuum of space]_

**EVERYONE:**  
>Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!<p>

**NARRATOR:**  
><em>'The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy'<em> is truly a remarkable book. The introduction starts like this:

"Space," it says, "is big. Really big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the street to the chemist, but that's just peanuts to space, listen…" and so on. After a while the style settles down a bit and it starts telling you things you actually need to know. Like the fact that the fabulously beautiful planet, Bethsellamin, is now so worried about the cumulative erosion caused by ten million visiting tourists a year, that any net imbalance between the amount you eat and the amount you excrete whilst on the planet, is surgically removed from your bodyweight when you leave. So every time you go to the lavatory there, it's vitally important to get a receipt. In the entry in which it talks about dying of asphyxiation thirty seconds after being thrown out of a spaceship, it goes on to say, that with what space being the size it is, the chances of being picked up by another craft within those seconds are two to the power of two-hundred-and-sixty-seven-thousand, seven-hundred-and-nine to one against. Which, by a staggering coincidence, was also the telephone number of an Islington flat, where Arthur once went to a very good party and met a very nice girl, whom he entirely failed to get off with. Though the planet Earth, the Islington flat, and telephone have all now been demolished, it is comforting to reflect that they are, in some small way, commemorated by the fact that twenty-nine seconds later, Ford and Arthur were, in fact, rescued.

**Scene 3. Int. ****_Heart of Gold_**

**ARTHUR:**  
>Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!<p>

**FORD:**  
>Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!<p>

_[A hatchway opens, then closes and locks.]_

**TRILLIAN:**(V.O.)  
>Infinity minus two seconds… infinity minus for… everybody… improbability factor high…<p>

**FORD:**  
><em>[Breathing heavy]<em> There you are…I… told you… I'd… think of something.

**GLaDOS:**  
><em>[Breathing heavy]<em> Oh sure.

**FORD:**  
><em>[Breathing heavy]<em> Bright… idea… of mine… to find a… passing spaceship… and… get rescued by it.

**CHELL:**  
>Oh come on! The chances against it were astronomical.<p>

**FORD:**  
>Don't knock it, it worked. Now, where are we?<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Well, I hardly like to say this, but it looks like the seafront at Southend.<p>

**FORD:**  
>God, I'm relieved to hear you say that.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Why?<p>

**FORD:**  
>Because I thought I must be going mad.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Perhaps we weren't rescued after all… Perhaps we… died.<p>

**FORD:**  
>What's that meant to mean?<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>When I was young I used to have this nightmare about dying. I used to lie awake at nights screaming. All my school friends went to heaven or hell and I was sent to Southend!<p>

**CHELL:**

You got that too?

**FORD:**  
>Perhaps we'd better ask somebody what's going on… How about that man over there?<p>

**CHELL:**  
>The one with the five heads crawling up the wall?<p>

**FORD:**  
>Er, yes.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Er, sir? Excuse me.<p>

**MAN WITH FIVE HEADS:**  
><em>[Elephant-like trumpeting]<em>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Er, excuse me. … You know if this is Southend there's something very odd about it.<p>

**FORD:**  
>You mean they way the sea stays steady as a rock and the buildings keep washing up and down? Yes I thought that was odd.<p>

**TRILLIAN:**(V.O.)  
>Two to the power of one-hundred-thousand to 1 against and falling…<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>What was that?<p>

**FORD:**  
>Sounds like a measurement of probability…. Hey! That couldn't mean…no!<p>

**ARTHUR, CHELL, WHEATLEY:**  
>What?<p>

**FORD:**  
>I'm… well I'm not sure, but it means we definitely are on some kind of spaceship.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
><em>[Sounding out-of-phase]<em> Southend seems to be melting away… stars are swirling… a dust bowl… snow…my legs are drifting off into the sunset. Hell! My left arm's come off too. How am I going to operate my digital watch now? Ford! You're turning into a penguin, stop it!

**CHELL:**

Why is my ear on my forehead?

**TRILLIAN:**(V.O.)  
>Two to the power of seventy-five-thousand to one against and falling…<p>

**FORD:**  
><em>[In high-pitched penguin voice]<em> Hey, who are you? Where are you? What's going on, and is there anyway of stopping it?

**TRILLIAN:**(V.O.)  
>Please relax. You are perfectly safe.<p>

**FORD:**  
><em>[In high-pitched penguin voice]<em> That's not the point! The point is that I am now a perfectly safe penguin, this woman is turning into a Picasso, and my colleague here is rapidly running out of limbs!

**ARTHUR:**  
><em>[In normal voice]<em> It's alright, I've got them back now…

**TRILLIAN:**(V.O.)  
>Two to the power of fifty-thousand to one against and falling….<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Admittedly they're longer than I usually like them but, er…<p>

**FORD:**  
><em>[As a penguin]<em> Isn't there anything you feel you ought to be telling us?

**TRILLIAN:**(V.O.)  
>Welcome to the starship <em>Heart of Gold<em>. Please do not be alarmed by anything you see or hear around you. You are bound to feel some initial ill effects as you've been rescued from certain death at an improbability level of two to the power of two-hundred and seventy-six thousand, seven-hundred and nine to one against - possibly much higher. We are now cruising at a level of two to the power of twenty-five thousand to one against and falling, and we will be restoring normality as soon as we are sure what is normal anyway. Thank you. Two to the power of twenty-thousand to one against and falling…

**FORD:**  
>Arthur this is fantastic! We've been picked up by a ship th the new Infinite Improbability Drive! This is really incredible Arthur!<p>

_[Sound of monkeys]_

**FORD:**  
>What's happening?<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Ford, there's an infinite number of monkeys outside who want to talk to us about this script for Hamlet they've worked out.<p>

_[Chord]_

**NARRATOR:**  
>The Infinite Improbability Drive is a wonderful new method of crossing interstellar distances in a few seconds, without all that tedious mucking about in hyperspace. The principle of generating small amounts of finite probability by simply hooking the logic circuits of a Bambleweeny Fifty-Seven Sub-Meson Brain to an atomic vector plotter suspended in a strong Brownian Motion producer - say a nice hot cup of tea - were, of course, well understood. And such generators were often used to break the ice at parties, by making all the molecules in the hostess's undergarments simultaneously leap one foot to the left, in accordance with the Theory of Indeterminacy. Many respectable physicists said that they weren't going to stand for that sort of thing, partly because it was a debasement of science, but mostly because they didn't get invited to those sorts of parties. Another thing they couldn't stand was the perpetual failure they encountered in trying to construct a machine that could generate the infinite improbability field needed to flip a spaceship between the furthest stars. And in the end they grumpily announced that such a machine was virtually impossible. Then, one day, a student, who had been left to sweep up the lab after a particularly unsuccessful party, found himself reasoning this way: "If such a machine is a virtual impossibility, then, it must logically be a finite improbability! So, all I have to do in order to make one, is to work out exactly how improbable it is, then feed that figure into the finite improbability generator, give it a fresh cup of really hot tea… and then turn it on." He did this and was rather startled to discover that he managed to create the long-sought-after Infinite Improbability Generator out of thin air. It startled him even more when, just after he was awarded the Galactic Institute's Prize for Extreme Cleverness, he got lynched by a rampaging mob of respectable physicists who had finally realised that the one thing they really couldn't stand was a smart-arse.<p>

**TRILLIAN:**(V.O.)  
>Five to one against and falling. Four to one against and falling… Three to one… two… one. Probability factor of one to one. We have normality. I repeat: we have normality. Anything you still can't cope with is therefore your own problem. Please relax, you will be sent for soon.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Who are they Trillian?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Oh, just a few guys we picked up in open space. Sector Zed, Zed nine, plural Zed Alpha.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Yeah, yeah, well that's a very sweet thought Trillian, but do you really think it's wise under the circumstances? I mean here we are, on the <em>run<em> and everything. We've got the police of half the galaxy after us and we stop to pick up hitch-hikers. Okay, so, ten out of ten for style, but minus several million for good thinking, okay?

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Zaphod, they were floating unprotected in open space. You didn't want them to die did you?<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>No, not as such, no, but…<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Anyway, I didn't pick them up, the ship did it all by itself.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>What?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Whilst we were in Improbability Drive.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Huh. That's incredible.<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>No, just very, very improbable. Look, don't worry about the aliens, they're just a few guys I expect. I'll send the robot down to check them out. Hey, Marvin…<p>

_[MARVIN activates]_

**MARVIN:**  
>I think you ought to know I'm feeling very depressed.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>God!<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Well, here's something to occupy you and keep your minds off things.<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>It won't work. I have an exceptionally large mind.<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Marvin...<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>Alright, what do you want me to do?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Go down to number two entry bay and bring the eight aliens up here under surveillance.<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>Just that?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Yes.<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>I won't enjoy it.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>She's not asking you to enjoy it, just do it will you?<p>

_[MARVIN moves off]_

**MARVIN:**  
>Alright, I'll do it.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Yeah, good, great, thank you.<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>I'm not getting you down at all am I?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>No, no Marvin. That's just fine, really.<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>I wouldn't like to think I was getting you down.<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>No! Don't worry about that. You just act as come naturally and everything will be fine.<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>You're sure you don't mind?<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>No, no, it's all just part of life.<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>Life. Don't talk to me about life.<p>

_[MARVIN heads for the door]_

**DOOR:**  
>Hummmm-yummmm…<p>

_[Door opens]_

**TRILLIAN:**  
>I don't think I can stand that robot much longer Zaphod.<p>

**NARRATOR:**  
><em>'The Encyclopedia Galactica'<em> defines a robot as being "a mechanical apparatus designed to do the work of a man". The Marketing Division of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation defines a robot as "your plastic pal who's fun to be with." _'The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy'_ defines the Marketing Division of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation as "a bunch of mindless jerks who'll be the first against the wall when the revolution comes", with a footnote to the effect that the editors would welcome applications from anyone interested in taking over the post of Robotics Correspondent. Curiously enough, an edition of _'The Encyclopedia Galactica'_ that fell through a time warp from a thousand years in the future, defined the marketing division of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation as "a bunch of mindless jerks who were the first against the wall when the revolution came."

**GLaDOS:**  
>I think this ship is brand new.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>How can you tell? Have you got some exotic device for measuring the age of metal?<p>

**GLaDOS:**  
>No, I just found this sales brochure lying on the floor. "The Universe can be yours. Sensational new breakthrough in improbability physics. As the ship's drive reaches infinite improbability, it passes through every conceivable point in every conceivable universe almost simultaneously. You select your own re-entry point. Be the envy of other major governments." Eh, I was gonna do that after I was out of the potato.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>It looks a hell of a lot better than that dingy Vogon ship. This is my idea of a spaceship! All gleaming white, flashing lights, everything.<p>

**WHEATLEY:**

What happens if I press this button?

**CHELL:**  
>DON'T!<p>

_[Wheatley presses button]_

**WHEATLEY:**  
>Oh!<p>

**CHELL:**  
>Oh no, what happened!? It's not going to explode, is it!? It's going to explode and we're all doomed, aren't we?!<p>

**WHEATLEY:**  
>No, a sign just lit up saying "please do not press this button again."<p>

**CHELL:**

Oh, thank god!

**GLaDOS:**  
>They make a big thing of the ship's cybernetics. "A new generation of Sirius Cybernetics robots and computers, with the new G.P.P. feature."<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>"G.P.P."? What's that?<p>

**GLaDOS:**  
>"Genuine People Personalities".<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Sounds ghastly.<p>

**DOOR:**  
>Hummmm-ahhhhh…<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>It is.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>What?<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>Ghastly. It all is. Absolutely ghastly. Just don't even talk about it. Look at this door. "All the doors in this spacecraft have a cheerful and sunny disposition. It is their pleasure to open for you and their satisfaction to close again with the knowledge of a job well done."<p>

**DOOR:**  
>Hummm-yummmm…<em>[shuts]<em>

**WHEATLEY: **

I have a bad feeling about those doors…

**MARVIN:**  
>Hateful isn't it? Come on. I've been ordered to take you up to the bridge. Here I am, brain the size of a planet, and they tell me to take you up to the bridge. Call that job satisfaction, cos I don't.<p>

**GLaDOS:**

_[with a bit of a nervous chuckle] _Yeah, totally… I know what you mean… hmm…

**FORD:**  
>Excuse me, which government owns this ship?<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>You watch this door. It's about to open again. I can tell by the intolerable air of smugness it suddenly generates… Come on.<p>

**DOOR:**  
><em>[Opens]<em> Hummm. Glad to be of service.

**MARVIN:**  
>Thank you the Marketing Division of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation.<p>

**DOOR:**  
>You're welcome. Hummmm…<em>[shuts]<em>

**MARVIN:**  
>"Let's build robots with Genuine People Personalities," they said. So they tried it out with me. I'm a personality prototype, you can tell can't you?<p>

**GLaDOS:**

_[caught by surprise] _Yeah! I-I mean, no, not at all, you- you totally fooled me! Heh, heh.

**FORD:**  
>Hmm.<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>I hate that door. I'm not getting you down am I?<p>

**GLaDOS:**

Not at ALL. I'm- perfectly cool with it I MEAN no, thank you, for, um, considering us.

**FORD:**  
>Which government owns this ship?<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>No government owns this ship. It's been stolen.<p>

**EVERYONE BUT GLaDOS AND SPACE:**  
>Stolen?<p>

**MARVIN:**  
><em>[Mimicking them]<em>Stolen?

_[GLaDOS laughs an uncomfortably long time, then covers her mouth abruptly]_

**FORD:**  
>Who by?<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>Zaphod Beeblebrox.<p>

**FORD:**  
>Zaphod Beeblebrox?!<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>Sorry did I say something wrong? Pardon me for breathing, which I never do anyway so I don't know why I bother to say it. Oh god, I'm so depressed. Here's another of those self-satisfied doors.<p>

**DOOR:**  
>Hummmm-yummmm…<p>

**MARVIN:**  
>Life, don't talk to me about life.<p>

**CHELL:**  
>No one even mentioned it.<p>

**FORD:**  
>Really? Zaphod Beeblebrox!<p>

**RADIO ANNOUNCER:**  
>And the news reports brought to you here on the sub-ether waveband, broadcasting around the galaxy around the clock. And we'll be saying a big "Hello" to all intelligent lifeforms everywhere, and to everyone else out there, the secret is to bang the rocks together guys! And, of course, the big news story tonight is the sensational theft of the new Improbability Drive prototype ship, by none other than Zaphod Beeblebrox. And the question everyone's asking is: "Has the big Zee finally flipped?" Beeblebrox, the man who invented the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster, ex-confidence trickster, part-time Galactic President, once described by Eccentrica Gallumbits, as "The Best Bang since the Big One", and recently voted 'The Worst-Dressed Sentient Being in the Universe' for the seventh time running. Has he got an answer this time? We asked his private brain care specialist, Gag Halfrunt.<p>

**GAG HALFRUNT:**  
>Vell look, Zaphod's just zis guy, you know..?<p>

_[A click as radio is turned off]_

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Hey, what'd you turn it off for Trillian?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Zaphod, I've just thought of something.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Yeah?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>We picked those couple of guys up in sec- Zaphod! Please take your hand off me. And the other one. Thank you. And the other one.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>I grew that one specially for you Trillian, you know that. Took me six months but it was worth every minute.<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>We picked them up in sector Zed, Zed, nine, plural Zed, Alpha. Doesn't that mean anything to you?<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Er, on the whole… no.<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Well, it's where you originally picked me up. Let me show it to you on the screen. Right there.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Hey Right! I don't believe it. How the hell did we come to be there?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Improbability Drive. We past through every point in the universe, you know that.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Yeah, but, but, picking them up there's just too strange a coincidence. I wanna work this out. Computer!<p>

**EDDIE:**  
>Hi there!<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Oh God!<p>

**EDDIE:**  
>I want you to know that whatever your problem, I am here to help you solve it.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Er, Look, I think I'll just use a piece of paper.<p>

**EDDIE:**  
>Sure thing. I understand. If you ever need -<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Shut Up!<p>

**EDDIE:**  
>Okay, Okaaay.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Trillian, the ship picked them up all by itself right?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Right.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Right. So, that already gives us a high improbability factor. It picked them up in that particular space sector, which gives us another high improbability factor. Plus they were not wearing spacesuits so we picked them up during a crucial thirty-second period.<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>I've got a note for that factor, here.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Yeah, put it all together and we have a total improbability of…yeah, well it's pretty vast, but it's not infinite. At what point did we actually pick them up?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>At infinite Improbability level.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Which leaves a very large improbability gap still to be filled. Look, they're on their way up here now, aren't they?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Uh-huh<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>With that bloody robot. Can we pick them up on any monitor cameras?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>I should think so.<p>

_[Camera is turned on]_

**MARVIN:**  
>…and then of course I've got this terrible pain in all the diodes down my left side.<p>

**GLaDOS:**

_[affectionately] _Oh… really?

**MARVIN:**  
>Oh yes. I mean I've asked for them to be replaced, but no one ever listens.<p>

**GLaDOS:**

_[Affectionately, caringly]_ Oh, that must be awful! Maybe… I… could perhaps… um…

**CHELL:**

_[quickly]_So! …We're on a spaceship… let's talk about that!

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Oh, god, I don't believe it!<p>

**FORD:**  
>Well, well, well. Zaphod Beeblebrox.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Faaaaaa!<p>

_[Camera is turned off]_

**ZAPHOD:**  
>I don't believe it! This is just toooo amazing. Look Trillian, I'll just, er, handle this. Is anything wrong?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>I think I'll just wait in the cabin. I'll be back in a minute.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Oh this is gonna be great! I'm going to be so unbelievably cool about it, it would flummox a Vagan snow lizard. This is ter-rific! What will you call? Several out of ten-million points for style!<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Well you enjoy yourself Zaphod. I don't see what's so great myself. I'll go and listen for the police on the sub-ether Waveband.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Right. Which is the- most- nonchalant chair to be discovered working in it? Yeah… ok.<p>

**DOOR:**  
><em>[Opens]<em> Hummmm-yummm… Glad to be of service.

_[MARVIN walks in]_

**MARVIN:**  
>I suppose you'll want to see the aliens now. Do you want me to sit in a corner and rust, or just fall apart where I'm standing?<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Show them in please Marvin!<p>

_[everyone who isn't already in the room enters]_

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Ford. Hi. How are you? Glad you could drop in.<p>

**FORD:**  
>Zaphod, great to see you. You're looking well… the extra arm suits you. Nice ship you've stolen.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>You mean you know this guy?!<p>

**FORD:**  
>Know him? He's…! Oh Zaphod, this is a friend of mine Arthur Dent I saved him when his planet blew up.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Oh sure. Hi Arthur. Glad you could make it?<p>

**FORD:**  
>And Arthur this is my -<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>We've met.<p>

**FORD:**  
>What?!<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Oh, er… have we? Hey…<p>

**FORD:**  
>What do you mean you've met?! This is Zaphod Beeblebrox from Betelgeuse Five, you know, not, not bloody Martin Smith from Croydon!<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>I don't care; we've met. Haven't we Zaphod? …Or should I say <em>Phil<em>?

**FORD:**  
>What?!<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Er... y- you'll have to remind me, I have a terrible memory for species.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>It was at a party.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>I rather doubt it.<p>

**FORD:**  
>Cool it will you, Arthur.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>A party six months ago… on Earth… England…. London…<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Er…<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Islington!<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>O-heh, <em>that<em> party…

**FORD:**  
>Zaphod, you don't mean to say you've been on that miserable little planet as well.!<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>No, of course not…. W- well, I may have just dropped in briefly... on my way somewhere…<p>

**FORD:**  
>What is all this Arthur?<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>At this party there was a girl. I had my eye on her for weeks. Beautiful, charming, devastatingly intelligent, everything I'd been saving myself up for. And just when I'd finally managed to get her for myself for a few tender moments, this friend of yours barges up and says, "Hey doll, is this guy boring you? Come an' talk to me. I'm from a different planet." I never saw her again.<p>

**FORD:**  
>Zaphod?!<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Yes. He only had the two arms and the one head and he called himself Phil, but-<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>But, you must admit that he did actually turn out to be from a different planet Arthur.<p>

**ARTHUR:**  
>Good god, it's her! Tricia McMillan! What are you doing here?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Same as you Arthur. I hitched a ride. After all, with a degree in math and another in astrophysics, it was either that or back to the dole queue on Monday. Oh, I'm sorry I missed that Wednesday lunch date, but I was in a black hole all morning.<p>

**CHELL:**

Tricia McMillan?

**TRILLIAN:**

Michelle Johnson?

**CHELL:**

OMG I haven't seen you in ages!

_[Chell and Trillian hug]_

**WHEATLEY:**

Wait, what?

**CHELL:**

We did an internship in physics together. We were best friends, until I was abducted. That internship ended up saving my life a few times, actually.

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Oh god! Ford this is Trillian. Hi. Trillian, this is my semi-cousin Ford who shares three of the same mothers as me. Hiii. Trillian, is this sort of thing gonna happen every time we use the Infinite Improbability Drive?<p>

**TRILLIAN:**  
>Very Probably, I'm afraid.<p>

**ZAPHOD:**  
>Zaphod Beeblebrox, this is a very large drink…. Hi. <em>[Gulps]<em>

**RICK:**

Quickly, give me one too.

**TRILLIAN:**

Why?… oh. _[carefully] _…make that two, please.

_[everyone but GLaDOS, SPACE, AND MARVIN turn around too look the way of the commotion]_

**CHELL:**

Three.

**WHEATLEY:**

Four.

**FACT: **

Five.

**ARTHUR: **

Six.

**ZAPHOD:**

Seven.

**FORD:**

Eight.

**EDDIE:**

Eight drinks coming up.

_[Eight drinks appear on a tray. Everyone takes one, chugs it down with one gulp, and smashes the glass on the floor._

_Camera switches to Marvin and GLaDOS in the corner of the room, making out.]_

**CHELL:**

Well, I'm never gonna be able to get that image out of my head now, am I?

**WHEATLEY:**

Nope.


End file.
